Survived By
by Zephyr
Summary: Pre-Syd's return. Encounter between Jack and Irina within a week of Syd's funeral. Rating due to language.


Author's Note:  Takes place less than a week after Syd's funeral.  When Jack told Sydney that Vaughn spread her ashes at sea, I couldn't help assuming that was performed near the pier where she poured her heart out to him in "A Broken Heart."  I think that's all I need to explain…

Jack had the unshakable feeling from the moment he turned his car toward the pier, and away from the bar, that he would not be able to mourn in solitude.  Someone would be there, or would come.  Michael Vaughn came to mind.  He had resigned two days before and word had reached the Jack that he'd already left the country.  Still, Jack's gut told him he would that night encounter the only man who could rival his love for his daughter.

It wasn't Michael Vaughn.  But Jack's gut had not been wrong.  _The Man_ had in fact already arrived.  Jack recognized her figure, leaning against the railing, even in the darkness.

Jack made no calculations as he approached.  Did not regret being unarmed.  Did not soften his steps or watch for a threatening move from her.  What would be the point?  Nothing she might want to do to him could harm Sydney anymore.  Let her kill him.  Let her torture him.  Let her crush the remaining pieces of his heart.  The notion that she might be able to hurt him beyond his present grief inspired a strange sort of hope in him.

He had stopped just steps behind her. 

"Jack?" she asked stiffly.  Until that moment, Irina Derevko had given no indication she was aware of his approach.  Apparently her intuition of the their meeting had been even clearer than his own.

"Yeah," he breathed.

She turned to face him.

"Where are they?" she demanded.

"Who?"

"The CIA, or the US Marshalls – whoever!"

She paused, sizing him up.

"You can't be cocky enough to try to take me in alone," she sneered.  But the façade didn't work on him.  He saw the fear in her eyes.

"Irina – " he tried.

"You sick son of a bitch.  I know this is a ploy to take me back into custody!"

Jack dropped his gaze helplessly, wishing his own denial could have this long.  

"I've been a sitting duck for more than forty five minutes now," she said, extending her naked arms from her sides, "What the fuck is taking so long?"

Jack stepped past her, staring into the dark water.

"Don't lie to me, Jack," she warned him.

"Why come if you thought it was a trap?" he asked, craning his neck around to see her response.

Tiny glints in her eyes alerted him to the welling of tears.

 "It's not possible," she said abruptly, her renewed denial interrupting Jack's moment of peace.

"We ran a DNA test –" Jack started wearily. 

"DNA?" she shot back, swallowing her horror as images of her child in conditions requiring such testing passing through her mind.

"Of her remains," he explained, almost patiently, "There was a fire . . ."

"Her remains," she said pointedly, "So you didn't _see_ her."

He shook his head at the futility of her argument, "The DNA matched, Irina."

"It couldn't have been her," she insisted, "I know Rambaldi's prophecies backwards and forwards and document the DSR got their hands on wasn't the only one about Sydney.  Too much has been left unfulfilled – she can't be dead!"

"The prophecy doesn't refer to Sydney.  We took her – "

"To Mt. Sebastio, I know.  But it can't be me.  I don't match the physical signs exactly.  We share DNA, but Sydney and I aren't clones."

Jack's eyes flashed with anger.

"You had Francie replaced with a clone," he rounded on her, "Sydney discovered her and they fought.  Your clone survived at the expense of your daughter."

"The double was Sloane's asset," Irina protested.

"Which you inherited – we have Sark in custody, Irina.  Surely you know how loose his loyalties are."

"He's a shameless liar as well, which you should have realized if he even hinted that I authorized Doran to lay a finger on Sydney."

"What did you think your asset would do when she was discovered?" he scoffed, "How did you expect Sydney to react?  Did you think they would just sit down and talk out their differences over a carton of ice cream?"

"She's not dead," Irina insisted, ignoring his indictments, "Think about it: why the fire if not to mask the fact it wasn't her?  If it was a clone of Sydney, then they'd have to destroy the body so that an optic scan could not be performed."

"As far as the CIA knows only two clones were made before the lab was destroyed – only two could have existed and we already know who they both were."

Irina bowed her head, her hands moving to her hips in agitation.

"Do you know any differently?" Jack pressed.

The trace hope that slipped into his voice tore at her heart.

"No," she whispered finally.

He stepped away from her to grip the railing, gazing out into the black water.

"I suppose I should ask," she said, moving to his side, staring out at the water, "before my denial wears off, how you've kept this from killing you."

He turned his head to look at her and she met his gaze.  It was so cold she could have shivered, but when he spoke, his voice cracked, betraying his humanity.

"I've had practice."

Irina dropped her gaze.

"Laura," she whispered.

He nodded shortly.

"But that was different," she said.

"Yes, it was," he agreed, "I eventually learned that you had betrayed me.  That the woman I loved wasn't dead, but in fact never existed."

Irina didn't flinch.

"You also had Sydney," she prompted after a moment.

"I did," he replied, "That's not the case this time."

Tears ran down her face over now well-established trails.  She was glad Jack's focus remained on the water.

"So how do you go on, when you . . ."

She couldn't finish the question.

"Now that I'm alone?"

"The same way I did before," he answered, "You misunderstand me, I think.  It wasn't Sydney that got me through your death, your betrayal.  It should have been, but it wasn't.  I wasn't strong enough for that."

He turned to look at her then, and instinctively Irina avoided his gaze, watching her fingers clutch the railing instead.

"You thanked me once, for raising our daughter," he continued, "Your gratitude was misplaced.  I wasn't there.  I drank and I worked.  Mission after mission, for CIA, for SD-6 . . . I threw my entire being into either making up for my mistakes, my gullibility, or forgetting them.  That's how I survived; I threw myself into combating _evil_ – however, futile or naïve that may have been – by whatever means necessary.  I took risks.  Insane risks that should have left Sydney an orphan – risks that could ultimately have left her life in the hands of Arvin Sloane."

He closed his eyes painfully, ashamed both of what was and what could have been.

"I neglected my daughter," he confessed, "and I didn't deserved her forgiveness for that.  Now that she's gone, there's no one to depend on me, no one to hurt."

"No reason not to repeat old mistakes," Irina inferred his conclusion, "No reason not to throw your life away to seek revenge for her death."

His jaw tightened, indignantly.

"Not revenge," he said, "Justice."

"Then what?"

"I don't know," he said finally, "Doesn't matter really."

"It matters to me," she said, quietly defiant, not tender.

He let the statement lie.  And a long silence settled between them, reminding them both of so many comfortable silences they had shared in another life.  Silences so often interrupted by the most welcome and lively little voice either had ever heard.  The absence of that voice began to gnaw at Jack.

"I'll still have to hunt you in the meantime," he told her off-handedly, "Can't ignore number six on the CIA's most wanted list if I expect to retain access to CIA resources."

"But you won't mind that so much, will you?"

"I will actually.  It's a waste of my time now."

"You could try taking me now and save yourself that time."

Her muscles tensed.  She welcomed the idea of a fight – something to vent the toxic build-up of emotions within her.  But she wouldn't fight him, not unless he initiated.

"No," he replied, "I'm not that cocky."

She nodded, holding back a smile.

"Thanks for the thought though," he added.

"No problem," she answered, losing her control over the smile as she spoke.

A light grin escaped Jack as well.

"So," he said, as they both grew serious again, "Now that you know my plan, what are you going to do?"

She hesitated.

"I don't want to hurt you."

When he refrained from all the obvious – deserved – rejoinders to that statement, she went ahead and told him.

"I'm going to believe she's still alive.  And I'm going to find her."

"You believe that strongly in Rambaldi?"

"No, not anymore."

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she prepared to explain.

"Whatever happened between the two of you over the years, she loved you."

Irina paused, her eyes flooding, and throat closing, as if hoping that if she couldn't speak the truth, it would cease to be.

"But the last time we spoke . . . Jack, she hated me . . . she hated me so much.  I can't live – not off of love, not off of hate – knowing she died still hating me.  I have to believe that somehow, there's still time. That there's still hope for forgiveness, for redemption . . . perhaps even reconciliation."

He wanted to resent her, to berate her for reducing their daughter to a means of personal absolution.  But he knew what she meant.  After Sydney discovered her memory of Project Christmas, he had been so close to where Irina was now.  How could he indict her for using the same language he himself had used? 

"Sydney Bristow, my daughter... has come to believe that when I look at her, I see the embodiment of all my flaws. And this afternoon when I learned that she may have been exposed to a life-threatening disease, I realized that she might die believing that. But nothing could be further from the truth. When I look at her, when I look at the little girl who raised herself to become one of the most extraordinary human beings and one of the finest agents I've ever had the privilege of knowing, I see only the promise of my own redemption. Turning myself in was the only way I could think of to make that clear to her, to prove that despite... my limited abilities as a father, I love her more than I could ever say."

He had reached that point and received a second chance.  Irina had not.  Despite all her betrayals, all her crimes, this did not feel like justice to him.

"She didn't hate you," Jack found himself saying, "What upset her so badly was that she couldn't understand you and couldn't stop loving you at the same time."

Irina wiped the new tears from her face.

"She told you that?"

Jack didn't answer.  He might have, but she spoke up too soon.

"It doesn't matter if she did.  She had the right to understand, to know who and what her mother truly was, and I denied her that.  I have to make that right with her.  Even if once she understands she hates me just the same."

"And if you can't?"

"If she's dead, you mean?"

He nodded, watching her so carefully that she almost let herself believe it was compassion she saw in his eyes.

"Well," she sniffed, "Then I expect I'll find those responsible in the process."

She turned, leaning her side against the railing so that she faced him.

"So you better hope I don't beat you to them, Agent Bristow," she forewarned,  "because _justice_ is going to be dealt out on a first come first serve basis."

He grunted his amusement down towards his feet.  When he looked back up, an eyebrow was raised mischievously.

"Then let the games begin."


End file.
